


The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

by ships_to_sail



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Apologies, Embarrassment, Episode: s06e02 The Incident, Fix-It, Honesty, M/M, post episode, soft boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: “So, about yesterday?”“Mmm. I thought we’d both agreed to the fact that yesterday doesn’t exist. There is no yesterday.”“No, yes. Absolutely. Yesterday has been completely erased. Except.”“Except…” He wasn’t going to do this for Patrick.“Except maybe, while yesterday did still exist, things were a bit, um, more expansive than I originally let on.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 20
Kudos: 334





	The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

The first thing David does when he wakes up, before he even opens his eyes, is run his hands across the crotch of his pajama pants. They’re dry, thank God, and he lets go of a deep breath and he fights to keep the heat out of his face.  _ It’s in the past. Yesterday is yesterday.  _ And when he opens his eyes, Patrick is looking down at him. Perfect Patrick, who still has his mouth guard in but has gotten rid of the nose-thingy. Perfect Patrick, who took divorce off the table and opened up a little door into his own embarrassing past so that David could get some sleep next to the man he loves.

Perfect Patrick, who is looking down at him with his lip caught between his teeth and worry in his eyes. David’s heart drops.

“Good morning,” Patrick says, and David already wants to fast-forward through whatever all of this is about to be.

“Morning.” Patrick bends down to kiss him, mouthguard and all, but it doesn’t feel sweet the way it did last night. It feels awkward, and it’s because David can tell that Patrick is trying to butter him up. “What’s up?”

“Up? What do you mean ‘up’? What makes you think something is up?”

David just keeps staring at him, propped up on one elbow, until Patrick scrubs a hand over his head and pops the thick plastic out of his mouth. He runs his tongue across his lips in a move that would normally drive David wild. If he could just get rid of that little dread monster currently burrowing into the lining of his stomach. He waits, and he breathes, and it takes almost no time at all before Patrick is exhaling heavily and forcing himself to meet David’s eyes.

“So, about yesterday?”

“Mmm. I thought we’d both agreed to the fact that yesterday doesn’t exist. There is no yesterday.”

“No, yes. Absolutely. Yesterday has been completely erased. Except.”

“Except…” He wasn’t going to do this for Patrick.

“Except maybe, while yesterday  _ did  _ still exist, things were a bit, um, more expansive than I originally let on.”

Fire fills David’s cheeks and he wants to sink through the bed. He breathes out through his nose, counts to ten, tries to keep panicked tears from pricking the corners of his eye. His stomach hurts and he kind of think he needs to throw up, but he can’t throw up, because that would be even more embarrassing than still talking about his  _ nighttime oopsie-daisies _ . Patrick reaches out to pat his shoulder and he flinches, pulling further into the sheets, covering himself, although he doesn’t miss the sharp little inhale Patrick takes. He hates that he hurt Patrick, but he’s also so incredibly embarrassed he’s having a hard time seeing straight 

“How bad is it?” His voice is muffled by the freshly laundered duvet cover, but he can tell by the way Patrick stiffens that he heard him loud and clear.

“You remember your mother’s livestream in the store.”

David pulls the sheets down from his face. “Oh my God.”

“Turns out just putting the phone down doesn’t actually end anything, so—” 

“So our  _ entire  _ conversation was posted to the internet?!” David is screaming, sitting up and throwing his hands into the air, and now he’s  _ seriously  _ considering throwing himself out the window, open or not.

“Yes.” Patrick doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t try to make excuses. Just sits and stares at his hands, running his thumb over the callouses on his palm. When he looks at David, his eyes are rimmed in red and, okay. That doesn’t feel great. “David, I am so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Shockingly enough, I thought you might take it badly.”

“And this is better?!” David gestures to the space between them and Patrick drops his head, shaking it slowly.

“No. No it’s not. You have every right to be angry.”

“I know I do!” David flops back onto the bedsheets and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. He  _ hates  _ this, hates the itchy, tight feeling that pulls across his skin and makes him feel flayed open to the world. It’s why he spent the first thirty-odd years of his life making ‘not trusting people’ his standard operating procedure. He wants to rewind time and pretend this never happened, while at the same time wanting to skip the next sixth months so no one would look at him and have it be the first thing they thought. “Does anyone else know,” he wants to pull the band-aid all the way off.

“That we know?” David nods. “Well. The Jazzagals were there when Alexis told your mom.”

“So everyone. Everyone in town knows. Perfect. Well, we have to move. I have to move. Now, immediately, before I have to see another living soul.”

“David…”

“No! Don’t ‘David’ me! I can’t — Patrick, I am  _ mortified _ . Do you understand that? I know you love me, and I love you, but I am.” He takes a deep breath and presses his fingers to his lips. “Do you know what it’s like to spend your life feeling like a fool? To walk in to every room and assume that the person laughing is laughing at you, and you may not know why?”

Patrick presses his lips together, his amber eyes too big for his face, and the compassion in them hurts to look at. “I don’t. I’ve felt - I’ve been a fool before. Obviously, I feel like we’re kind of in the middle of a big moment for that right now. But I’ve never felt like, like that.”

“Okay, well I have. And I am so glad to be beyond that, but this? This “thing that happened”? It is that, all over again, only you’re here, and you’re apart of it.”

“David, I love you. You have nothing to be ashamed of, about any of this. In fact, I’m the one whose feeling pretty god damn ashamed about themselves at the moment.” And that takes David aback, because it’s not like Patrick is a choir boy but it’s also not usually something he says with that much self-loathing in his voice. And maybe David is still feeling just a little bit petty, because he doesn’t do what his heart wants, doesn’t reach out and wrap Patrick up in his arms to make him feel better.

“I don’t ever want you to lie to me. Lying to me doesn’t protect me.”

Patrick exhales, his breath shaky, and nods his head. “Yeah. I get that.”

“I also don’t ever want you thinking that I cannot handle myself. I know that I am,” David clears his head, “a better solo artist, most of the time. That I am temperamental, and prone to exaggeration. But I am also not the same person my mother and my sister expect me to be in crisis. I carried you up a mountain.”

Patrick’s face falls into fondness. “Yes. Yes you did.”

“So while there will  _ never  _ be a next time, next time you’ll tell me.”

“Yes, David. When the inevitable next time comes, I’ll tell you. And I will be here, loving you, through whatever that next thing is. Please accept my apology?” He leans over David, bracing his arms on the mattress so that he’s boxing him in. He’s smiling down at David, small and tentative, like he’s not sure he should. And there is a big part of David - the stomach flipping, heart racing, itchy skin part - that knows they’ll have to talk more about this later, that this isn’t something they’ll be able to lay to rest quite so easily. But there’s a part of him who sees who Patrick is, who sees through his need for order and fix-its and white lies to the deep, steady, unshakable core of love that exists there. 

“Apology  _ tentatively  _ accepted.” He lifts his head and presses his lips to Patrick’s and it’s sweet, and soft, and David can feel something inside of him stitch closed a little bit. 

“Breakfast? My treat?”

“Oh, no I’m not leaving this apartment for at least the next 96 hours.”

“David!”

“No! Nope, nuh-uh. Not going to happen. Letting me _ Grey Gardens  _ it is the least you can do for my  _ deeply wounded  _ pride.”

Patrick laughs but stands up, turning around and tucking David in. “I’ll tell you what. We’ve got to open, so I can’t give you 72 hours. But I can give you today. How does breakfast in bed fresh from the café sound?”

“That would be acceptable.”

“Pancakes or french toast?”

“Both?”

“You don’t think that’s a little—” 

“ — the  _ entire _ internet, Patrick.”

He laughs, and ducks to kiss David one more time. “Both it is. I love you, David Rose.”

**Author's Note:**

> I adored this episode, and I think many times in life we make wrong, bad, messy decisions to try and keep the people we love the most from coming to harm. 
> 
> Also, Patrick Brewer in a mouth guard was everything I never knew I needed.


End file.
